


For Every Night You Feel Alone

by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes)



Series: Holly's Round Six Trope Bingo Card [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 06:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7303195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiasobi_writes/pseuds/hollyandvice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Falconers win the Cup, Jack plans on staying on that high for the next five days. Instead, it doesn't even last five hours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Every Night You Feel Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my Round Six Trope Bingo Card and sequel to the wingfic for the same trope bingo card. Title from [here](http://ilove-agapo.blogspot.com/2015/01/for-every-fear-that-shakes-your-peace.html).

Jack tears through the throngs of people on the ice, friends and family alike, searching for Bitty. He grabs at least three different teammates, but none of them have seen Jack's fiance, and Jack is slowly getting more and more frustrated.

Finally he finds his parents, and both of them look worried. It's Jack's first sign that something's wrong.

"Maman?" She puts on a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes, and Jack stumbles forward to grasp her by the elbows. "Maman, what is it? What happened? Where's Eric?"

She shakes her head. "He left, baby," she says, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the stadium.

"Left?" His mother nods, and Jack feels the betrayal curling in his stomach. "But I…" Jack swallows, wide-eyed and confused. "I don't understand."

His dad leans in so he can speak directly into Jack's ear. "He was struggling through most of the third period, especially after your go ahead goal," he says. "It looked like he was in pain. Has he been ill?"

Jack frowns. "If he has, he's kept it a damn good secret. Though he was pretty reluctant to come out tonight." He shakes his head. "I don't get it. I was so sure…" he sighs, and puts on his best media smile. "Well, I guess I'll just have to check on him when I get home."

——

It's almost dawn when Jack stumbles home, still mostly drunk on the combination of alcohol and victory.

Eric's sitting on the couch, his shoulders hunched and his phone clutched to his ear. He isn't saying anything, just breathing heavily, and Jack finds himself a lot less excited and a lot more worried.

"Eric?"

Eric looks up at him, eyes wide and wet, and his face goes soft. He turns his head slightly and speaks into the phone ("I have to go, Mama, Jack's home. I know. I love you too. Always.") and then looks back at Jack. "Welcome home, Jack."

It's so normal, so ridiculously normal, that Jack's worry dissipates into anger. "What the hell, Eric?" Eric's answering sad smile doesn't quiet the anger in Jack's chest, it just makes the anger worse instead. "My team just won the Cup and you couldn't even stay to see it?"

"I saw it," Eric answers, voice sharp. "I came and I watched you play, just like I promised I would. But I never said I would stay for the after party or the celebrations or any of that. I wouldn't have promised you something I didn't know if I could give."

"And why the hell couldn't you give me that?"

"Jack--"

"No, seriously, tell me why my hockey wasn't enough. Why I wasn't enough."

"Don't you dare." Eric's voice is low and sharp and gives Jack pause. "Don't you _dare_ act like you don't know how much I love you and your team. Those boys are like family to me too and you know that damn well, so don't you dare act like you don't know that I wouldn't have left without a good reason."

Jack deflates. "I know. I just. Tell me why Eric. Please."

Eric gets to his feet and crosses the room to Jack's side, a hand on his elbow, and opens his mouth to speak, but then Jack gets his answer quicker than Eric's words ever could have explained it. Eric winces, draws back, and presses his hands to his shoulders.

"Oh."

Eric gives him a sad smile. "Yeah. Oh."

Jack relaxes; he thought it was something serious, but emergence. That's something they can handle. He tells Eric as much.

Eric doesn't look like he agrees. "Jack. You should sit down for this." Jack frowns, but doesn't move. Eric sighs, recognizing Jack's stubborn streak for what it is. He sighs, tries to stand up straight, and speaks. "This isn't just any emergence, Jack. This is my seventh."

That stops Jack short. He's done his research, read up on emergence, knows it's a sign from angels to draw those that they consider their own back into the fold, but for this to be Eric's seventh? That that can't be. "How? You've only gotten your wings three times so far!"

Eric's face is pitying. "I had a life before you, Jack."

"But--"

"Whatever the Internet told you about true love being the only thing that causes emergence is wrong. I've gotten wings before we ever met, Jack. This will be my seventh. But I take it you already know what that means."

Jack's throat is too tight to speak.

Eric steps across the room, closer to Jack, reaching up to put one hand on his cheek. "I'm glad it was you, Jack. I'm glad I got to have this. I'm glad I got to see you win. And I'm so, so glad it was on home ice. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"That's why you didn't want to come," Jack whispers, finding his voice. "You knew his would happen."

"I had an inkling. But Jack, it would have been the same even if I was at home. I'm glad you insisted. I'm glad I went. I'm glad I got to see you win."

"Eric--"

"And don't you dare blame yourself, baby," he says, voice low and sure even as tears gather at the corners of his eyes. "This is not your fault. It's the angels'. Don't you dare blame yourself."

Jack chokes on a sob.

"I love you, Jack, and I'm so glad I got to have you in my life. Nothing will ever change that."

Jack can't take it any longer. He presses in close to Eric, drawing him up in his arms and kissing him fiercely, like his love will be enough to keep Eric by his side when the angels are already calling him home. Eric doesn't try to gentle the kiss, matching Jack's fervor instead, and that is Jack's surest sign that this is as serious as Eric had made it out to be. It only makes him clutch Eric tighter, pressing bruises into his skin while Eric fists his fingers in Jack's hair. It's harsh and sharp and brutal and everything Jack expects from his hockey but nothing he expects from his relationship with Eric.

For a moment, Eric draws back, searching Jack's face, and he speaks the last five words that Jack will ever hear from his lips. "I love you, Jack. Always."

Then the wings burst from Eric's back, bloody and messy and he falls to the ground, his whole body convulsing. Jack reaches for him, but Eric shoves him off, his face turned away while he shrieks, the sound deafening and ungodly, and Jack can hardly bear the sight of this, worse than any emergence he's borne witness to in the last three years. Then Eric falls still, slumped on the ground, his bloody wings spread over his prone form, and Jack can't breathe.

Eric's gone. And there's nothing anyone can do about it.

All the elation of the hours before evaporates, and all Jack can do is sob.

——

Jack doesn't remember much about the rest of that night. All he does remember is keying in the passcode to Eric's phone through his daze and pulling up Dr. Monahan's number. 

Monahan had insisted that Jack not declare Eric dead, that Jack bring him to the clinic and let him put Eric in something he referred to as stasis. Jack, still numb from the loss of his fiance, had agreed, and then gone and gotten completely smashed at Marty's. Marty hadn't asked questions. Jack liked that about Marty. Still does, as a matter of fact.

He'd woken up around four in the afternoon the next day completely hungover, and for a second he'd wondered what he was doing at Marty's instead of at home. It hadn't taken more than a minute or two for everything to come back in full color, high resolution images behind his eyes, all of them drenched in red.

He's got the liquor cabinet open and the scotch out before Marty finds him and slips the bottle out of his hands. "You only go for the scotch when things are shitty," Marty says, voice level and calm, "and given that we just won the goddamn Stanley Cup last night, I can only assume something's going on with Eric. I'm not saying you have to talk to me, but I am saying that you have to talk to someone before I let you into the scotch."

Jack glares at Marty, but he doesn't budge, his eyes hard and sharp on Jack's. Sensing that he's not going to get out of this one, he turns on his heel and marches out the front door. He considers driving home to drink his own bottle of scotch, but that would mean going back to the blood and the feathers and the reminders of what he's lost.

He vetoes that idea outright.

He reaches for his phone instead, and then stills, trying to decide who to call. For all that his first instinct is to call Lardo, he's also scared of what she'll say. What she'll accuse him of. What he'll accuse himself of. It's not what he needs right now, so he scrolls past her number. He stops on Shitty's number, and that, too, feels like the wrong call. Lardo's probably with him, and even putting that aside, Shitty's always had Eric's back. (He's always had Jack's back too, a tiny voice in the back of his mind reminds him. He's had Jack's back since before they even knew Eric) He's always had Eric's back and he'll be just as devastated as Jack is. No, Jack needs someone else. Someone impartial. Someone that knows Jack, and knows better than to focus on Eric.

He only lets his thumb hover over Kent's number for a second or two before he taps it, holding the phone up to his ear as it rings.

"Zimms!" Kent says, voice loud and bright. "What the hell are you doing calling me you fuckin champ? You should be out with your team!"

"Kent," Jack says, and he hates the way his voice trembles on the single syllable. "Kent, I…"

Kent sobers immediately. "How bad is it?"

Jack chokes on a sob, hating the way Kent still knows him so well even as he's immeasurably grateful for it. "Bad."

"Okay. Where's Eric?"

Jack actually does start crying, then. "Kent, I… Eric…"

"Jack?" And Jack hears the quiet note of terror in Kent's voice and can't quite ignore it. "Jack, where's Eric?"

"Gone," Jack says, voice strangely steady as he speaks the word. "Eric's gone."

There's silence on the other end of the line, followed by a rustling and the clacking of laptop keys. Then, voice steely and sharp, Kent says, "I'll be on a plane in two hours. Are you with someone now?"

"I'm at Marty's."

"Okay. You stay there until I get there. In fact, you know what, put him on the phone."

"Don't tell him--"

"I won't say anything about Eric," Kent interjects immediately, "I just need him to make sure that you stay put for as long as it takes for me to get over there."

Jack swallows and then, slowly, he gets to his feet and walks back into Marty's house. Marty's standing there, arms crossed with an eyebrow raised, but Jack just extends his phone toward him. Marty's eyebrow kicks up even higher, but he takes the phone. "Hello?" The skeptical look turns immediately to confusion and a little bit of anger. "Parson? The fuck are you--" He cuts himself off, seriousness taking over his tone. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Is he-- No, obviously he's not okay. Is there someone else I should call? You sure?" A long moment of silence, and then. "Alright. If you're the one he called, I gotta trust he's got a reason. You've got twenty-four hours, Parson, and then I'm calling every goddamn contact in his phone to figure out what's going on, capiche?" He laughs at whatever Kent says and nods. "You got it. See you in a couple hours."

Marty turns back to Jack, holding the phone out to him, concern in his face, but confidence and security there to back it up. Jack doesn't even bother trying to put on a reassuring face, taking the phone and holding it to his ear instead. "Kent?"

"I'll be there in a few hours, Jack. I promise."

Jack closes his eyes. "Okay. And Kent?"

"Yeah?"

"Hurry."

——

When Kent shows up to pick Jack up from Marty's, Jack's three sheets to the wind but still hasn't told Marty what's going on. Marty shakes his head when he meets Kent at the door, and Kent can actually feel himself draw up to his full height as he storms into the living room where Jack's sitting, empty tumbler held loosely between his knees. Jack looks up at him, eyes red-rimmed and lost and Kent almost takes pity on him.

Almost.

"Get your idiot ass up, Zimmermann," Kent says sharply, storming over to all but haul Jack to his feet. Jack doesn't resist. "I've tried Bittle's phone seven times and he hasn't picked up once; if that's not a sign that you've royally fucked this one up, I don't know what is."

Jack snorts and Kent thinks he hears Jack mutter the word seven under his breath, but Jack doesn't say anything else, handing his tumbler off to Marty while Marty hands Jack's keys to Kent.

"Seriously, I don't know how you managed to piss Bittle off this bad, but we're gonna go find him and we're going to sort this whole thing out."

When Jack actually laughs, harsh and bitter and nothing Kent's heard since that awful conversation at the draft, Kent startles so bad he almost drops Jack. He turns to Jack, confusion and the beginnings of genuine worry mixing in his chest, but Jack just shoves himself off of Kent's shoulder and marches toward the front door, his steps straighter than Kent would have expected.

Kent glances at Marty who looks just as worried as Kent is starting to feel. "He didn't give you anything?"

The vet shakes his head. "Nothing. I've never seen him this bad, Kent. Is it--"

Kent shudders, knowing what Marty's implying. "I don't know. I didn't think it could get that bad again; he's got a hell of a lot better support system now than he did back then. But I don't know."

Marty swears. "You know I've gotta tell George."

Kent turns sharply to look Marty in the eye. "And you know I've gotta tell Bad Bob. That doesn't mean I'm gonna pick up the phone right now and call him. We gotta give Zimms a chance to sort himself out and tell them himself."

Marty's gaze flicks back and forth between Kent's eyes before he nods slowly. "I'm gonna defer to you since I've never seen him this bad, but if I don't hear from one of you that Jack's told George within twenty-four hours, I'm calling her my damn self."

Kent nods. "That's fair. But do give me the day, Marty. I think I'm gonna need it."

Marty nods. "Keep him safe, yeah?"

Kent swallows, suddenly seventeen and alone with an unconscious Jack in the bathroom at the draft. "Yeah," he says hoarsely. He swallows again, standing up a little straighter when he catches the sympathetic look in Marty's eyes. "Yeah, you know I will."

Marty just hums, seeing Kent to the door and shutting it behind him.

Jack's leaning against his car, head tipped back on the roof as he stares up at the wide open sky. He looks up at Kent, eyes clear and sharp in a way they hadn't been a few minutes ago. Kent gets right up in Jack's face, glaring into his eyes. "You'd damn well better start talking, Zimmermann," he says, his voice as clear and sharp as Jack's eyes. "You know I'll take your side no matter what, but Bittle--"

"Open the damn car, Parse."

Kent lets his lips thin into a terse frown but doesn't say anything else, clicking the button the keyring and letting Jack turn away and slip into the passenger side door. Jack doesn't say anything as they make it back to the apartment Kent knows he shares with Bittle, Kent's phone reading off the directions the only sound in Jack's car. Every time Kent snatches a look at Jack, he's staring out the window, and Kent can't catch his eye. Jack doesn't respond to any of Kent's questions, spiraling Kent's worry up higher and higher with each passing minute. When they make it to the apartment complex, Jack snatches Kent's phone out of the cupholder and leads the way upstairs. Kent chases after him, keys jangling in his loose grip as he catches up to where Jack's lounging outside the door to his apartment.

"Go on, then," Jack says, nodding at the door.

Kent frowns, but slips the keys into the lock, pushing the door open and talking to Jack over his shoulder. "I don't know why you're making this into such a big deal, it's just Bittle and I know he--"

Kent stops short as he looks away from Jack and his eyes catch on the absolute mess that the living room has become. The couches have been shoved aside and there's signs of the coffee table having been bumped and no one bothering to make sure that it was put back into position. It's like someone tried to put the room back in order with only a rough idea of what it was supposed to look like.

"Jack, what--"

Kent hears Jack lock the door behind them and then cross into the living room, an idly amused look spreading over his face as he rounds the corner. "Oh. Dr. Monahan must have sent someone over to take care of the blood."

Kent feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. "Blood?" he asks, too stunned to be embarrassed by how faint his voice is. "Jack, what the hell?"

Jack turns to him, a serene sort of smile spreading over his face that Kent knows can't be a good sign. "I told you, Kenny," and if the look hadn't been enough of a bad sign, the old nickname certainly is. "Eric's gone."

Kent's blood goes ice-cold in his veins. "Define… define gone for me, Jack."

Jack's face goes, if possible, even more placid. "Dead, Kenny. Eric's dead."

——

It takes Kent a solid two hours to convince Jack to agree to call Lardo and Knight and another three to get them up to Providence. Lardo screams at Jack for a solid two minutes after she walks in the door before ending with a sharp "And if you think he didn't plan for this and make sure I knew that you were the one I needed to worry about when this happened, you've got another thing coming. I'm not mad it happened, Jack, I'm mad you thought you _couldn't tell me_ , and--" before Jack pulls her in tight against him.

Kent can only just make out the choked, breathless "I'm sorry"s that he's whispering into her shoulder.

Knight mostly just looks dumbfounded, but when Lardo reaches out for him, he surges forward and holds on tight to both Jack and Lardo. Kent considers leaving the three of them, but he doesn't know Knight and Lardo well enough to know if they'll think to let the Falconers know what's going on with Jack--they have the damn parade in less than forty eight hours; someone will have to come up with something--and he's certain Jack's in no state to think of it. So he stays, waits them out, and when the mourning comes to a lull, he steps in and lets himself be the bad guy once again.

He holds Jack's phone out to him. "I know you probably don't want to, but you have a few other people to call, Jack."

Jack nods. "Marty. Yeah, I--"

"Not just Marty, Jack," Kent says, trying to keep his voice gentle. It's been a long time since he's had to be Jack's port in the storm, but it's not something he's forgotten how to do. "Your parents. And." He swallows, not wanting to do this but knowing he has to. "And Georgia. Jack. You need to tell the team something."

Lardo looks ready to start in on Kent, but Jack sighs, bowing his head and nodding a little as he accepts the phone. "Yeah. Yeah, I know." He takes a shuddery breath before turning to Lardo, something sparking in his eyes. "Do you still have Dr. Monahan's number in your phone?"

She frowns. "Of course. Why?"

"I just." Jack's eyes dart from side to side before settling on Lardo's face again. "I want to make sure I tell Georgia to put out the right statement."

Lardo's eyes go wide, something unspoken but mutually acknowledged between them. She nods and gets to her feet, stepping into the foyer as she scrolls through the numbers on her phone.

Jack looks back down at his own phone and, with a heavy sigh, unlocks it. After a few quick swipes, he holds it up to his ear. "Hey Dad," he says, voice sounding old and tired. "It. I." He swallows. "I could really use you and Maman right now." Bob says something and Jack shakes his head. "No, I'm safe, Dad, I just. I need you two here. Please." Jack nods at whatever Bad Bob says and mutter a hoarse "Thanks," before hanging up the phone. He stares at it for a moment longer before sucking in a slow deep breath through his nose. Then he taps the phone a few more times before pressing it to his forehead.

Knight puts a hand on Jack's back, as though to steady him. "Jack, if you need me to--"

"I can do it, Shitty, I just… I need a minute." Then, straightening, Jack turns back to his phone, poking it violently a few more times and holding it up to his ear. "Marty? Yeah, it's Jack. Listen, I'm sorry about last night, I just-- Yeah, I'm… well, I'm not okay yet, but I'm getting there." He pauses for a moment before ighing slow and deep. "No. Probably not. I don't." He swallows. "I don't think George will want me there. Just trust me on this, Marty," he says sharply, cutting across whatever Marty's saying. "You guys won't want me there either."

Kent can hear Marty's voice getting louder and angrier even from the other side of the room. He approaches Jack, putting a hand on his knee. "Jack. Come on."

Jack looks over at Kent and lets his jaw go tight. "Look, Marty, it's… it's Eric, okay? He's not…. He's in the hospital." Marty goes silent on the other end of the line. When he speaks, Jack just nods. "I know, Marty. They cleared me out last night before I came over to yours, and it just. I couldn't be there anymore anyway. I needed out." He pauses, listening to whatever Marty's saying. "I know. And I'll let you guys know as soon as I know anything, I promise. But for right now…." He shrugs. "I don't think there's anything any of us can do. Thanks Marty," he adds to whatever the vet says in response to that, "I'll be counting on you." Then he's hanging up, lowering the phone and holding it between his knees, staring at it vacantly.

Lardo comes back into the room just as Kent is trying to find the words to encourage Jack to call Georgia, a ferocity in her face that startles Kent, but seems to settle Jack if the way the tension flows out of him is any indication.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"Yeah," Lardo says, her gaze sharp and bright. "Monahan just sent me the medical cover. He says it's not perfect, but it'll do. You want me to forward it to you?"

"If you would."

Lardo nods and taps her phone a few times. Jack swipes away from his lockscreen--Kent's chest twists a little when he sees that it's a picture of Bittle, laughing in their kitchen--and punches a few things in before he navigates back to the phone and calling up Georgia's number.

Looking for all the world like he's steeling himself for a fight on the ice, Jack calls her. "Georgia? It's Jack. I've got some bad news."

It's a little frightening that the grim look on Jack's face as he talks to the Assistant GM is the calmest Kent's seen Jack look since he touched down a few hours ago. Frightening but, at the same time, reassuring.

Jack's going to make it through this even if Kent and the rest of Jack's support system have to drag him kicking and screaming through the darker parts. Because Kent will be damned if he abandons Jack ever again.

——

_Falconers' Captain Jack Zimmermann will not be attending the Stanley Cup Parade tomorrow. His fiance, Eric Bittle, was admitted to a private clinic two nights ago with a critical but undisclosed medical condition. While Bittle has been treated for similar conditions in the past, this onset was sudden, unexpected, and more severe than previous instances. We ask that the press respect the family's privacy at this time. Thank you._

**Author's Note:**

> [Come hang with me on tumblr!](http://hollyandvice.tumblr.com/)


End file.
